Behind Closed Doors
by victorycee
Summary: A turn of events in Defence Against the Dark Arts class causes a certain turn of events for one Draco Malfoy. Warning for Slash, Harry/Draco, Language and mature themes. Rating will change. -In Progress-


This is just a prologue to the story Behind Closed Doors. Not my first fanfic, but basically my first. I started writing one other but it was lost and so discontinued. So this is pretty much a first for me :-p. I hope you enjoy!

**DISCLAIMER**_:_ I do not own any of the characters or places or any of that tripe mentioned in here. It all belongs to J.K. Rowling... lucky girl.

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Well, that certainly is an interesting proposition,

thought one Draco Malfoy bemusedly, icy-silver eyes racking nonchalantly over the state (perfect, no less) of his manicured finger nails. An annoyed scowl graced his elegant facial features as he felt a sharp elbow prodding into the right of his rib cage, physically asking (or demanding) the boy's attention.

"What now, Blaise?" Draco hissed under his breath without turning his head even a fraction so as to silently say that the dark-skinned Slytherin certainly didn't have his full and undivided attention. Of course, the Malfoy boy wasn't particularly unnerved today, or at least not more so than any other day, and any sort of biting snap remark could be expected from him when _trying_, like any respectable Malfoy, to pay attention in one of his favourite classes. Such a ponce he was. The corner of Blaise's mouth twitched slightly before it turned up in an amused smirk at his friend's antics. _Could you say Malfoy was really a FRIEND, though?_

"Have a look at Potter and his tag team over there. You'd think that they have never had any sort of… hands-on experience before." The boy sniggered before jerking a (an admittedly less cleaned and perfected) finger discreetly in the direction of the aforementioned trio sitting together at the opposing end of the D.A.D.A. classroom. The latest Defense teacher, the one and only potions master Snape, had finally had his wish of years granted and was offered the allusive position of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. His methods of teaching were, as he supposed, much more… effective than primitive apprehensive text-based learning. The Slytherin professor proposed (demanded) a thorough training session to sharpen and polish one's skills in evasive manoeuvres and defensive actions using offensive tactics. So, basically, the 6th year students would be getting a run-down on how to run away. And attack, if need be.

Draco stole a quick glance over to the 'Gryffindor Table' as it was unofficially entitled and half-heartedly took in the six students' expressions. Dean Thomas appeared a little bored, his gaze flicking tiredly at different random spots around the room, and Seamus Finnegan seemed to be rather absorbed in… other students, the Irish twat. Granger looked entirely too ecstatic for a simple little field trip, if you could even call running around fighting boggarts in the great hall a trip of any sort. Draco's pale rose lips did however twitch a slight bit when he saw the look of apprehension and horror on the Weasel's freckled face. Potter looked… well, Potter. His entire visage was lit up in mirth as he smiled and laughed so care-freely at what was most probably the admittedly amusing sight of the horror-stricken Weasley. His eyes (brilliant, vibrant, deep, astoundingly emerald-green eyes) were lit up with laughter and it was like his happiness spread out to his friends in a goody-goody little halo of good that just lightened up the whole mood. Stupid Potter, the Boy-Who-Refuses-To-Die. He probably thinks of himself in exactly that way, like it's his JOB to make everyone happy. Him and his stupid hero complex. I'll bet he thinks just smiling makes everyone around him feel all happy and warm and fuzzy like a feather floating over a meadow in July. Stupid ponce, he's got me on a rant again and now even my similes don't make sense. Merlin, his hair is atrocious.

During Draco's unnervingly common soliloquy-style rant about Harry Potter, the professor Snape continued giving a very detailed explanation of the events that would transpire the next D.A.D.A. class. Summed up in such a way so that a 16 year old who was born in 1980 could actually understand – unlike the methods explained by the potions master – the Great hall would be transfigured into a wide-open space littered with randomly placed barricades so that the boys and girls could get a little 'battlefield experience', so to speak. And what better way to practice fighting against your fears and for your self-preservation than to fight fear itself? And nothing is more fearful than a boggart. (Well, maybe not nothing…) The only spell permitted was the Riddikulus charm and there would be "absolutely no malicious intent towards colleagues to be taking place for the duration of this experience."

Draco scoffed. "Merlin, I think the Weasel is about piss his pants," the blonde teen sniggered along with the dark-skinned boy next to him at the foolish looking ginger boy. So much for Gryffindor bravery. Their light laughter subsided after a moment; it was more of an automatic response than an actual emotion, like they were expected to laugh and taunt the boy rather than feeling a pull to do it of their own accords. The amused smirk that took up the blonde's expression quickly dissipated, leaving a small, annoyed frown in its wake. "Potter just looks…" he continued, not seeing the roll of dark chocolate eyes coming from the boy sitting next to him and the all-too-knowing glance that was shot his way.

"Adorable? Handsome? Hot? Sexy? Godly?" Blaise muttered under his breath, giving out a few choice adjectives to finish his friend's sentence for him. This response also went unnoticed, to the Zabini boy's slight relief (Who wants a pissed off Malfoy, anyway?) as he was waved off by a pale, manicured set of fingers. Blaise grunted at this, not a fraction as put off as Draco would have been had he been ignored, but the boy was still a slight prissy Slytherin like the rest.

"Then I suppose it would interest you to know we're paired up with the Gryffin-dorks there then? With them, Draco. With them. 'With', as in happy woo-hoo teamwork 'with'," Blaise frowned as he said this and let out in an exasperated puff at the end, having just realized that the very thing he used to annoy the Slytherin could be perfectly used against himself also, being a Slytherin as well. To this remark, and to Blaise's intention, Draco did in fact let a reaction slip onto the carefully crafted mask the Malfoy usually wore. He frowned, his white-blonde eyebrows knitting together in slight frustration, although due to the somewhat perceptive nature of the Slytherins, Blaise could see that he seemed more frustrated with himself than anyone else. Some kind of internal battle, maybe? I bet I could play him, drag the answer out of him. Whatever he's so bothered with must be good…

"What's the matter, Draco Malfoy? Too busy staring at Scarhead to come up with a response? Though I guess years of Quidditch has done him well enough… for a scrawny piece of hippogriff food." The boy smirked, almost trying to will a reaction from the ponce. Damn, he didn't even flinch. But wait a minute… It was true; Draco showed absolutely no physical reaction to Blaise's words, not a twitch or any uncomfortable shifting of any sort, before he responded with words as Malfoy's do best.

"Please, Blaise _Zabini_," he scoffed, with emphasis on the dark-skinned boy's surname, "do you see vomit on our desk? No? Well, then I guess I haven't been ogling any Gryffin-dorks lately then, eh?" A pair of pale silver eyes rolled to the ceiling as a pair of equally pale hands began to gather up some books, parchment, quills and an inkwell, beginning preparation to leave the classroom as there were only a few remaining minutes. Blaise decided to press a little further though as he began to pack up his belongings himself. Just something about Malfoy's too calm response and his too perfectly crafted facial expression put the boy off a might.

"You sure, Draco? You know, a lot can happen behind closed… well, behind barriers, where no one can see what you're doing…" He trailed off, intentionally planting a couple of images he just knew would pop into the white-blonde head. How can he help it, anyway? It's Slytherin against Slytherin this time, after all.

"Sure, as in maybe instead of hexes and jinxes, there may be a real brawl ahead of us _'behind barriers'_. That's all too good, anyway, as _'no one can see what I'm doing' _when I pummel Potter's face into the dirt. Honestly, Blaise, what were you thinking, anyway?"

Aha, there it was. So he was thinking it too. Blaise only shook his head and shrugged (too) innocently, a smirk not surprisingly twisting his lips again as it had so many times throughout the class previously. He said nothing as the drawling baritone voice of Snape disdainfully dismissed his pitiful students without looking up from his desk and parchment. Just as Draco was stepping through the threshold, more ready for bed then he'd been at all the previous week, a dark hand closed around his shoulder and held him back. He whipped around and met a pair of rich brown eyes, sparkling slightly with amusement and just a hint of revelation.

"Boggarts aren't the only thing that you might be afraid of, Draco."

The boy left without another word.

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TBC.


End file.
